


Clint Barton Doesn't Listen Very Well Anyways

by TheoMiller



Series: something bigger [13]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Deaf Clint Barton, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-28 23:11:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3873397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheoMiller/pseuds/TheoMiller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Clint has a disagreement with 2000 milligrams of flash powder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clint Barton Doesn't Listen Very Well Anyways

"How's the soundproofing?" asked Steve.

Nat shrugged. "It should be enough to keep us from hearing the nearest ones, which are half a mile away."

And, because the universe apparently hated Steve Rogers, that was when they heard the loud and unmistakable _BANG!_ of a firework going off. Bucky shot up off the couch, and Steve barely managed to catch him around the waist before he could get to the door.

"Find whoever's setting those off and stop them," Steve ordered, struggling to keep Bucky contained.

Clint and Natasha nodded and set off.

"Bucky, Bucky, come on," said Steve. "It's just fireworks. It's fireworks. You're safe. There are no hostiles."

Bucky's expression was distant, and Steve couldn't even be sure Bucky could hear him.

-

"What the actual hell," Beth greeted them. She had a jaunty little Fourth of July pin made of beads and paperclips on the lapel of her khaki shirt. It was the only cheery thing about her. "Who sets off fireworks in a state park?"

"Barnes is freaking out," reported Clint.

Beth sighed. "All right, let's find this asshole."

"Agreed," said Natasha. "Clint, northwest, do as wide a sweep as you can. Llewelyn, west. I'll go north. Shout if you find them."

Natasha crept away through the woods, listening for the next firework so she could pinpoint the origins. She'd gotten maybe fifty meters into the trees when Clint yelled, "Nat!"

She spun around and headed towards the sound of his voice, which became somewhat easier a moment later, when it was followed by another loud bang and Clint shouting out in pain.

"Barton!" she called, as she ran through the dense woods. "Barton, come in!"

"Shit," she heard someone say.

She came skidding into a clearing by a pond a moment later; a teenaged boy was staring, shocked, at where Clint was sprawled out of the ground. His hair was singed as if by an explosion, and there were remnants of the makeshift firework in the leaf litter around him. Nat stalked towards the boy. "What did you do?" she snarled.

"I was throwing it, and he startled me, and—oh, shit, oh shit, shitshitshit. Is he dead? Did I kill him?"

"If you did, you won't be around long enough to regret it," she said, and grabbed him by the collar. Beth was already there, crouched beside Clint and radioing in for backup from the other rangers. "We need to get him to a hospital," she said.

Beth glared daggers up at the kid. "Grab his feet," she ordered. "Romanoff, under that arm, we need to stabilize his head."

"I didn't mean to—"

"Shut up," Natasha said.

He went silent and grabbed Clint's legs as they lifted his torso up, and remained silent as they carried him back to the cabin, even though he was clearly struggling with the weight and the pace.

Steve was waiting outside with Bucky, their fingers laced together, though they broke apart when they spotted the kid. "What happened?" he said. "We heard Clint yell?"

"This idiot," said Natasha, "threw an illegal firework at Barton's head."

"Holy shit," said the kid. "You're Captain America."

Steve's eyes narrowed. "I am. Do you know who that is?" He pointed at Clint, as Natasha carefully maneuvered him into the backseat of the SUV. "That's Hawkeye and Black Widow. And this is a war veteran who had a flashback because of your fireworks."

"Oh, shit," the kid repeated.

"Sit down and wait for the rangers to come collect you," Steve said dangerously.

He obeyed, and Steve turned to Beth. "Where's the nearest hospital?"

-

“What—” began one of the nurses, only to have Natasha shove past him and stalk towards the check-in desk.

“Sorry,” Steve told him, shifting Clint around in his arms to keep the archer’s head propped up, “she’s a little worried about him.”

“You’re Steve Rogers,” another nurse said, her brown eyes wide.

Steve went a bit pink, which was when Bess cut in and began to explain that Steve Rogers had a friend who’d experienced possible inner ear trauma and mild burns when a firework with an estimated 2000 milligrams of flash powder went off above his head.

A couple of the burlier looking nurses, including one black woman who clucked her tongue when she saw the half-dried blood around Clint’s ears and muttered something about irresponsible pyrotechnics, took Clint out of Steve’s arms, and placed him in a wheelchair while Natasha hovered protectively.

Bucky was practically glued to Steve’s side, eyes darting around, and the nurse who’d recognized Steve had noticed. “Hey,” she said to Bucky. “Are you experiencing anxiety? Any chest pains?”

For a moment, Steve thought Bucky was going to bolt. And then, slowly, Bucky nodded.

“We’ve got too many patients to admit you,” said the nurse, “but once we get your friend settled in, I’ll bring you some water and maybe some graham crackers. For now, though, I need you to breathe in for four seconds, hold it for seven, and breathe out for eight. Can you do that a few times for me?”

As soon as she was sure Bucky complied, the nurse was off again, calling for a patient and apologizing for the wait.

Bucky took a few more breaths and then, “Barton shouldn’t have done that.”

“Welcome to the Avengers,” Steve said.

“Huh?”

“All of us say that at some point,” said Steve. “Natasha says it weekly.”

Beth returned to them. “They want to know if you plan to press charges against the person who threw the firework.”

“No,” Steve sighed, “I think we scared him enough. We’ll ask Clint when he wakes up.”

“They’re treating his burns right now,” she said. “Natasha bullied her way into the room, so we don’t need to worry about Hydra or other work stuff getting in the way. But the damage looks… permanent.”

“Permanent how?” asked Bucky.

“Well,” she said, “I’m not a med student anymore, but I believe that the eardrum, while capable of healing most perforations, has to be existent to regenerate.”

Bucky blanched, and Steve cleared his throat. “What are his options?”

“He should regain partial hearing in the other, and the inner ear damage is temporary only, but he will require hearing aids the rest of his life.”

“You don’t think that’ll be a problem in the field?” said Bucky.

“Says the guy with a prosthetic arm,” Beth retorted. “Look, as long as the burns heal and there aren’t any infections, he’ll probably be fine. So stop angsting, and call Iron Man. Tell him to revolutionise electroacoustic devices with all the weight of Stark Industries.”

Bucky nodded and stepped away, fishing for his StarkPhone.

Steve cleared his throat. “Thank you for your help.”

“But you need to be alone with your teammates?” Beth guessed, and Steve offered a sheepish shrug. “I understand. But I think, given the circumstances, this is the last you and I will see of each other for a while. It was an honor, Captain.” She saluted sharply and loped away, nodding to one of the nurses, who seemed to recognize her. She paused at the door, though, and called back, “And make sure you visit the soda fountain when you get to New York, I owe its owner a favor.”

“Thought Stalon didn’t do favors,” Steve said.

“Stalon doesn’t,” she said. “Rosabel does.”

-

"I didn’t know you knew sign language," Steve said.

Natasha smiled toothily. "There's a lot you don't know about me. Are you done opening those flashcards yet? Clint's a quick learner, we'll need all of them."

"Have you talked to Coulson?"

"Yeah," she said, "he's not happy. Threatened to have that idiot kid disappeared, but I think that was just the anger talking, he's too morally upright." Nat made an expression that clearly conveyed her distaste for Coulson's moral righteousness.

Steve didn't believe it for a second. "Does he know sign language?"

"No, but he's probably already downloaded software for it," she said. "But that's not what either of us want to talk about."

"Moving into the Tower," said Steve. "Yeah. I know, we need to do it. But…"

She grinned. "You're enjoying your honeymoon cabin with Barnes a bit too much?"

"Shut up," said Steve.

Natasha arched an eyebrow. "Be nice to me, Steve, or you won't get your birthday present."

"Is it a card that says Happy 96th Birthday? Because if so, Stark beat you to it."

"No," she said, and handed him a flash drive out of seemingly nowhere. "It's a photo album. SHIELD personnel photos of Peggy, every clip of the Howling Commandos, the Commandos in later life, your mother, all digitally enhanced to be as clear as possible."

"Thanks," said Steve.

"Apparently Clint's present to you was him ending up in the hospital," she said. "It's what he gets everyone at some point. Ask Phil, it's been something like four or five times for him."

"How very thoughtful," Steve said drily.

She gathered the last of the sign language flashcards. "Happy birthday, old man," she told him. "Now come on, Barnes is bound to have finished setting up your hospital surprise party by now."

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not as happy with this as I'd like to be, but it's the best I've got, so. Consider it a quick fix to Clint being apparently hearing in the Avengers.


End file.
